Bob leafed, then put it down like a hot stone. ‘Margaret, I’m not meant to see this. These are confidential between the solicitor and the client.’
‘I stole them,’ she said. ‘Well. The copies.’
‘Why did you . . .’
‘There’s a man. He came to see me, a few years back. After the soldier died. You remember? John died, and then the soldier died in my arms. And I just – I couldn’t do it any more. This man came to see me and he said, Mrs Maguire, I hear you were very distressed by the incident the other day. And he knew what I did. Where I worked and who for. And he asked me . . . to get things.’
Bob looked at the file. Information inside that would help solve at least a dozen active investigations, he was sure. And yet he couldn’t touch it, because if he did her life would be in danger.
‘There’s things in there. Addresses. Names. People they can watch. Who they should arrest. Maybe to stop more people dying. I’ve been giving it to him. This man.’
‘Dear God, Margaret.’ It was all he could say. Taking the Lord’s name in vain. ‘And what can I . . .’
‘They know,’ she said crisply. ‘Someone knows. I’ve been made a target.’
Oh dear God, have mercy.
‘So. I need your help, Bob.’ Her hands were gripped together now, almost breaking the skin she wrung them so tight, and her face was pinched in terror. ‘You know what they do. They kidnap you, they torture you – they tape it all – they get your confession. You can’t stand up to it. No one can. I couldn’t. I’m not – I’m not strong enough.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
She bit her lip and he could see she was trying not to cry. ‘There’s only one thing I can do. I just need you. So please, will you help me?’ Bob looked down, at the marks of her fingers that were fading now so rapidly, and he realised that, whatever happened, whether he helped her today or whether he didn’t, he was never going to see Margaret Maguire again.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mary was very calm. She only blinked once, and very slowly nodded her head. ‘I see. So they got him in the end.’
‘We don’t know. His body – he was found in the sea, so it’s possible he drowned.’
‘He didn’t drown,’ she said quietly. ‘They did this. I knew they would. I should have stopped them.’ Her calm was so unsettling Paula felt the hairs rise on her neck.
‘We can’t be sure. But you’re right we need to be very careful, all of us. We have to take these samples out of here. We’ll need some way to prove everything that’s been going on, and Matt’s research is the only record.’ Guy put a hand on the plastic box. Inside, the dead face of something was pressed against the side. Paula shuddered. ‘Plus, if they’ve figured out you have them . . . it’s not safe.’
‘You want to take the box?’
‘Please. In the morning the forensics team will be here, I hope, and we’ll need to preserve and document all of this. Did you wear gloves when you touched it, by any chance?’
She nodded. ‘Of course, Inspector. I don’t want to be getting dead mouse on myself, now do I?’
‘I imagine you’d want it out anyway, must be stinking the place up.’ Guy was smiling, and Paula felt a small easing of the knot of panic she’d carried in her stomach all night. Maybe this would be all right. They could shelter somewhere till morning – take Mary with them – and then the Guards would come and they could sort out this whole bloody mess. She was already cataloguing it in her head. Who could they charge and what with? Or would they have to write it all off as collective madness?
Mary was nodding. ‘All right. Let me get you some tea first, you must be exhausted.’
Paula stood. ‘Let me, Mary, you’ve had a shock.’
‘No. I knew he would be dead. I knew it. It’s fine.’ Mary went out, shutting the door behind her.
Guy leaned back on the sofa, closing his eyes briefly. ‘Poor woman. Christ, this is a bad business.’
‘I know. I hate having to do that, give the death notice.’
‘I’d say you get used to it, but I hope you never do.’ One of the things she’d always admired about him was that long years of service, and even the death of his son, had not blunted his compassion, for each and every death. He smiled at her wearily. ‘Holding up OK?’
‘Not too bad. I wish I could talk to Maggie.’
‘I know. The power might be back by tomorrow. You never know.’
‘Yeah. Hope so. What’ll happen? Can anyone be prosecuted?’
He shrugged. ‘The company, maybe. Though if they say Matt wasn’t making any sense, who knows. This kind of paranoia has massively complicated things. Are you feeling all right?’
‘I think so. I don’t have the urge to bash your head in, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Good. I’m quite fond of my head, battered as it is.’
And she was quite fond of it too, she realised. They’d seen each other so little in the last two years since the unit disbanded. She liked working with Helen Corry, but it wasn’t the same. She and Guy had always had an intuitive connection, and she missed it. It had been something precious, that connection, and because she’d been stupid enough to sleep with him, she’d almost destroyed it. She hadn’t even seen Guy in more than half a year, the secret she was keeping from him pushing them apart. ‘I’m glad you came,’ she said. ‘I mean I’m sure you’re not – but I couldn’t have been out here alone.’
‘I’m glad too. I’d hate to think of you here with this . . . whatever it is. This madness.’ He shuffled forward and reached for her hand. He’d taken off his gloves, and his were cracked and red from the wind. Hers were too, still frozen through. He rubbed warmth into them, and she let him. No one had touched her like this in months. Not since she’d seen Aidan being dragged away in that police car, still in his wedding suit. After years of being alone, Paula had had to get used to having someone there when she turned her key in the lock, when she rolled over in bed, when she opened her eyes. And she had got used to it, and then it had been taken away, and for months now there’d been a raw emptiness in her. Her heart ached again, thinking of Aidan in prison. Somewhere she could never get to him. No windows, locked doors, slowly rotting away.
She imagined saying it. Guy. I’m sorry we got it wrong, but you’re Maggie’s father. You, not Aidan. And I didn’t tell you because . . .
Well, because he was still married. Rockily, but married. And they’d lost their son and she couldn’t be the one to break them more. But she’d have to tell him sometime. Maggie would need to know who her father was, for one thing. Yes, sometime. Sometime wasn’t now. ‘Tess must be worried about you,’ she said, as nonchalantly as she could manage.
‘She’s used to it, sadly. She knows I’d call if I could. I was always away when the children were small. You can imagine how much I wish I had that time back.’ He misinterpreted her look. ‘But don’t worry, you’ll be home to Maggie tomorrow. It’s only two nights, that’s nothing.’
‘I’ve never been away this long.’ They’d planned to go on honeymoon, her and Aidan, for two weeks, but of course that had never happened. And Maggie had already lost the man she thought was her father, locked in a prison cell. She tried again, thinking of the job Guy had offered her the year before. The one she’d almost taken, if it wasn’t for finding that note in the kitchen. ‘Guy. Things have been . . . Since you left, things have been really tough for me, and I . . .’
He took his hands away, his face clouding. ‘Paula. I hope . . .’
He didn’t finish his sentence. She waited, and he said nothing, and she followed his gaze over her shoulder. To the closed door. Where Mary had not returned from making tea.
‘Do you smell smoke?’ he asked, calmly.
‘Mary!’ Guy put his shoulder to the door, but it didn’t budge. ‘Mary, what are
you doing?’
From the corridor, her voice was muffled. ‘I can’t let you take his things. It wasn’t his fault. He was sick. And people will talk about him, say things about him. I can’t let you do that.’
He turned to Paula, wide-eyed. The first tendrils of smoke were creeping under the door. ‘The window. We need to get out.’
Dimly, part of Paula couldn’t believe this was happening again. Was there no safe place? She looked around for something to smash the window. The hard wooden chair was surely too heavy to lift, and yet she scooped it up and swung it. The window cracked, didn’t break. Guy was rattling and pushing at the door. ‘Mary. Let us out!’
Her voice sounded thick. ‘It’s better this way. No one has to know. We’ll burn it . . . we’ll burn it all up.’
Paula swung again, and the window cracked and shattered, spewing shards of glass over her clothes. She closed her eyes and shouted. ‘Come on.’
Guy was behind her, holding his coat over the shards, and they were up and out, into the cold air of the storm. The wind was sucked in, fanning the fire, and Paula saw the door glow red. ‘We have to get Mary!’
She raced to the front of the house, where flames were licking now round the door, black smoke pouring out. Through the glass panes of the door, Mary could be seen, slumped in the hallway. A hacking cough came – she was still alive. Paula covered her hands with her fleece and wrenched at the door. ‘Mary. Mary!’ It didn’t give. Guy was bashing at the glass with a rock from Mary’s garden path, but it wasn’t breaking. Bang, bang, bang.
Mary tilted up her face, and for a moment she smiled. ‘Matt,’ she shouted, through the fire, and then she was lost in smoke.
Paula howled. ‘Mary! Help me get this open, come on.’ Her hands were scrabbling at the doorknob, and she pulled her sleeves over her hands to cover them.
Guy was behind her, pulling at her. ‘We can’t go back in.’
‘But she’ll – she’s going to die!’
‘Paula.’ He held her fast. ‘Think of Maggie. You can’t.’
He was right. ‘Is there nothing we can . . . ?’ It was coming home to Paula now, how much had been lost out here. No fire brigade, no police. No one coming to save them. It was just them and the fire and the storm, and all they could do was keep running. But on an island three miles long, how many places were there to run to? She sank into his arms, sobbing. How could this be happening? A woman was dying just metres away, and there was nothing they could do. Matt was dead, Fiona was likely dead too. They’d come to this godforsaken island for nothing, they were being hunted, and she just wanted to get back to Maggie. She wanted to be back in her house with Aidan and Maggie in the kitchen, him wearing Maggie’s stupid plastic tiara and singing a stupid song, making the tea towel into a cloak. She wanted that so badly it was like physical pain. Because she couldn’t have it. She’d probably never have it again.
‘Paula.’ Guy was shaking her. She realised she’d slumped down onto the stones of Mary’s path, and they were digging into her. ‘Come on, it’s OK.’
She sat up, shakily, and he wiped the soot from her face. Tender. ‘She’s . . . she’s dying,’ Paula choked out.
‘I know. I think, maybe – it’s what she wanted. To be with him.’
To be with a man who didn’t even love her, who like as not hadn’t known how she felt. Who was dead too. Both of them dead. ‘Fuck.’ She was crying.
Guy’s hand was strong in hers. ‘Please, come with me. I know it’s awful but I have to keep you safe.’
She got to her feet, struggling to stand. And they ran down the beach, feeling the scorch of the fire behind them, and on the breeze was carried the dark tang of soot.
Chapter Thirty-Three
‘What do we do?’ She was panting, trying to keep up with him. He was pounding over the sand, as if trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the burning house, the burning woman. Guy’s hair was whipped by the wind, his face grim.
‘No one can get out here till it’s light. That’s another four hours at least. There’s nowhere safe for us, not on this island. Everyone is . . . well, you can see.’
Her teeth were chattering, her face numb. ‘But where can we go?’
‘Off. We can go off.’
Paula didn’t understand. ‘How?’
‘The boat. Matt and Fiona’s boat. We can take it.’
Back along the shore, skirting the empty boatshed, stripped out by Mary, desperate to keep Matt’s memory clean. Both of them gone now. Back past the factory, which was silent too, the windows empty. The buildings dark and lifeless, trees bent to and fro like mourners at an Ancient Greek funeral. The wind keening past their ears.
Paula had been sure the boat would be gone, but it was still there, lying like an overturned beetle in the sand. And someone, someone with the same idea as them, had got there first.
‘It’s him!’ she shouted. ‘Isn’t it?’ The man from Mary’s house, shrouded all in black, struggling to turn the boat over in the wind.
Guy paused for a moment, then set his shoulders, and ran towards the man. ‘Hey. Hey! I want to talk to you.’
The man saw them and stumbled over, falling in the sand, then tried to get up. Guy had reached him, running easily over the flat compacted sand. ‘Wait. Wait!’
Paula raced up beside them, seeing the Enviracorp logo on the jacket, and above it a terrified face she recognised. ‘Dara?’ she shouted, over the wind. ‘What are you doing?’
He had his hands up. ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I need to get away from here.’
‘Wait! Calm down.’ She hunkered beside him. He was breathing hard, his face stung red from the sea spray. ‘What’s going on? You were at Mary’s house.’ Had he been planning to kill her, this affable corporate man? Did that mean the company was behind the pub burning, too – almost killing her and Guy?
He wiped his face with the back of one hand, leaving strands of black wool from his glove. ‘I had to find Matt’s samples. They weren’t in the lighthouse, or in his boatshed. She took them.’
So he was the one who’d turned the lighthouse over. ‘You knew? About all this?’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t know, I swear! Not till that report came out. Jesus Christ, it’s a shit-storm. We’ve been doing our best to clean things up, but it’s a mess.’
She remembered how they’d used water from the cooler to make the tea, in the factory coffee room. ‘You knew yesterday, right?’
‘We don’t know anything for sure. Not until we can take more samples. But people are – Jesus Christ, did you see what happened? Her house! She sent the whole bloody place up in flames!’
‘You weren’t trying to hurt her?’ Guy narrowed his eyes.
Dara shook his head frantically. ‘I just got sent for the samples. We just needed to clear it all up, make sure no one got hurt . . . Christ. I’d never have hurt her, never, I swear.’
‘And the pub?’ asked Paula, already knowing the answer.
‘No! I swear, we didn’t. Christ, I don’t know what’s going on. It’s a fucking mess!’ So who’d set the fire, then? Who had tried to kill them?
‘You know you can’t cover this up,’ she said. ‘People are sick. Really sick.’
‘You don’t think I know that? For fuck’s sake. Bloody Ellen’s fucked off too. Fuck her. Now I’m stuck here.’
He’d managed to drag himself away, and was pulling himself up on the edge of the boat. She shouted back to Guy: ‘He’s going!’
Guy understood. The man was half-crawling, half-walking to the edge of the water now. ‘Wait! We can help you – are you hurt?’
Dara was almost in the sea now. The waves licked round his ankles, and Paula realised too late what lengths someone would go to to get off this island. ‘He’s going in!’
Guy wa
s running after him, trying to help this time, but the man was terrified, and it just made him plunge further into the waves, and she watched, frozen and horrified, as the waves went higher and higher, grey-green in the moonlight, and soon the small, dark blot of his head was the only thing they could see.
Guy was back beside her, panting hard with effort. ‘Couldn’t get to him. Can’t go in after.’
No, he was right, but could they really stand and watch a second person die in less than an hour? ‘The boat!’ she shouted. ‘Can we get him in the boat?’
‘We need to turn it.’ Guy was pushing it down the beach, sliding it with effort through the sand. Paula put her hands to the dark barnacled wood and tried to help. He was strong, doing most of the work. Soon they were splashing in the water, and she felt the cold seep through her boots and socks, and gasped. The boat lightened in their hands, picked up by the tide. ‘Flip it,’ shouted Guy. With much grunting and gasping, the boat turned over in the water, splashing them in cold saltwater. Paula wiped it from her eyes. Guy held the boat steady. ‘Jump in. Go on.’
She did, and he followed. The smell of metallic blood was strong in the boat, and she thought that it would be hopelessly contaminated now. After everything that had happened, there might be no evidence left except what she and Guy could testify to. The thought was chilling. They had to get through this night, otherwise no one might know what had happened here.
There was no sign of Dara in the sea now, though she scanned it over and over, and she told herself he’d maybe made it round the island, to a sheltered cove or cave, but with a cold spot in her stomach, she knew this was a long shot.
‘Where will we go?’ They huddled in the small boat, hearing the slap of waves against the side. It was rocking alarmingly, water still crashing on either side.
‘I don’t know. I don’t think we can make the mainland, not in this. We’ll have to just stay out, as close to shore as we can.’
Blood Tide (Paula Maguire 5) Page 21